Breaking the Habit
by Jezebelle1
Summary: -Sigh- Are you tired of me songfics? Here's another. To Linkin Park, "Breaking the Habit". Johnny contemplates and 'attempts' suicide.


Memories consume  
  
Like opening the wound  
  
I'm picking me apart again  
  
You all assume  
  
I'm safe here in my room  
  
Unless I try to start again  
  
Other people can summon up memories with words, easily. I can hardly remember yesterday, and anything farther back in date than that is alien to me. But the times when I do remember, bits and pieces like static-y radio signals, it hurts. I see what I've done, what other people have done to me, and I can't believe this world. Aside from everyone else, I'm just as worse. I'm just as evil, and I make me sick. That's why I've been on this little mission of mine. You see, I'm only trying to...be normal, if you will. Hah. Me, normal? That's pretty good...  
I don't know how long I've been here, in this single room. I haven eaten in months, I'm guessing. To eat would be defying this whole movement, but a taco sounds good right about now. This whole 'emotional-enema' thing, it doesn't seem to be working very well. I've been wanting so badly, wanting to see people, Squee mostly. I've been hungry, and thirsty, and constantly aware of Meat's voice somewhere in the background. I'm debating whether or not to just call the whole thing off and slaughter a bunch of people at the ice rink. I'll have to check the schedule, but I'm sure at this moment, I'm a little preoccupied. Until Later Hopefully, -NNY  
  
I don't want to be the one  
  
The battles always choose  
  
Cuz inside I realize  
  
That I'm the one confused  
  
I looked up from the pages of my Die-ary and shook my head. I sighed, snapping it shut and closing my eyes, feeling warm tears cascade slowly down my cold face. The touch of warmth almost brought my heart to a stand- still, I hadn't been warm anywhere for a few weeks now. "Nny, go get a blanket, or a Pop-Tart. Something hot. Maybe a girl?" Meat hissed to me, and I felt weak still because I could still hear him. "No." I muttered softly. "I'm fine. Just...leave me alone." I said, wiping away the tears and leaning my back against a peeling wall. I looked to the ceiling, feeling more tears just replace the old ones, and I wiped those away, beginning to get frustrated at myself. I couldn't see any reason why I am the way I am... I thought. Maybe it's just...everything. Anything I said made me even more confused, maybe I should just shut up.  
  
I don't know what's worth fighting for,  
  
Or why I have to scream.  
  
I don't know why I instigate,  
  
And say what I don't mean.  
  
"If I hate these people so much, why do I even give them my time?" I asked myself, shrugging slowly. Flashes came to me of Edgar, who never did anything really, and all my other victims. It was my fault in a way, for being myself. It might've been them, being the way they are, and me wanting to 'protect the world'. And to think if I actually suceeded, there would be nothing left. Nothing but me, and how great would that've been? I'm alone enough as it is... I yell too much, and so many they mess up so much that it seems pointless to try to be a superhero, even an incredibly messed-up one at that. And all that stuff with Devi, I just can't believe how stupid I can get. Of course, back then it wasn't just me inside me. It was the wall-thing, and the Doughboys, and any other little voices or vices. I didn't even want to say any of that, hell, I didn't even want to kill her.  
  
I don't know how I got this way  
  
I know it's not alright  
  
So I'm breaking the habit  
  
I'm breaking the habit tonight  
  
Suppose that it is like what all those psychologists say it is, my past is what made me this way. I suppose it could be true. But in order to derive from my past, don't I have to know it? I mean, that's stupid, considering the fact that some nights I can hardly remember my own name. It's just not fair, for me, or for anybody else. If there are people like me out there, noone's safe. I leaned my head back against the wall, as a few more tears spilled. I stopped wiping them away a while ago, maybe just letting them flow will do good. Maybe I should let everything just flow...  
  
Clutching my cure  
  
I tightly lock the door  
  
I try to catch my breath again  
  
I hurt much more  
  
Than anytime before  
  
I had no options left again  
  
I stood up slowly, placing my die-ary on the floor as I calmly strolled to the door and dead-bolted it. No sense on having anything try to interuppt me, but that's alway a rare occasion anymore, visitors that is. I jingle the knob and make sure it's locked. My hand lingers a moment as I take a breath, and exhale. It seems as if I have no choice on this matter, but I know I do. I just don't like to admit it. I just don't feel like hurting anymore, or being hurt for that matter. It's happened to frequently, and there's just always that sense that if I meet anyone, they'll hurt me once more. I walk to my knife rack and close my eyes, hands resting on the walls as I break into a fit of sobbing. I fall to the floor and just curl up there, like a wounded animal, I just whimper and snivel and sniff and everything else you do when you cry. My frail hand climbs up to the rack and searches for a suitable handle, I know all my knives, some life huh? I pull one down and whimper a little longer, growing more courageous by the moment. My courage is something different. I have to suck it up and save myself, to rid myself of a disease. And my knife is the medication for salvation.  
  
I dont want to be the one  
  
Who battles always choose  
  
Cuz inside I realize  
  
That I'm the one confused  
  
Confusion is not foriegn to me, in fact it's like a brother. That and irony, guilt, agony, and all those other dreary emotions. Just accompaniment to my song, the song being my life in general. Sometimes, I suppose it's like a flower, its beautiful one moment, and then the next the beauty's replaced by death as it wilts and the petals fall away. I've found out before that I'm not beautiful, but I might've been at one time, but how the hell do I know? I'd like to see what kind of flower I'd be...  
  
I don't know what's worth fighting for  
  
Or why I have to scream  
  
I don't know why I instigate  
  
And say what I don't mean  
  
I don't know how I got this way  
  
I'll never be alright  
  
So, I'm breaking the habit  
  
I'm breaking the habit tonight  
  
Nailbunny was like the priest on the other side of the confessional wall, and I am the sinner. No priest would have time enough for me, but I'd first have to have something to believe in in order to confess to anyone. I, like all beings, am not perfect. Me much more than the rest... I guess.  
  
I'll paint it on the walls  
  
Cuz I'm the one at fault  
  
I'll never fight again  
  
And this is how it ends  
  
Sitting up, I finally sigh for hopefully the last time, and roll back the sleeve of my shirt. I smile through my sobs, at the flesh, it looks shallow. But you can drown in any amount of anything.... I raise the blade to my arm and clench my eyes shut tightly, maybe I should've fed my own blood to the wall monster... Upon the opening of my eyes, I pulled the serated blade across my skin and it tugs and rips. A wave of a beautiful crimson ocean pours out all around me. I drop the knife with a clatter and fall backwards, my wrist flailing behind me, rubbing against the wall, making a single red smear as I lose conciousness.  
  
I don't know what's worth fighting for  
  
Or why I have to scream  
  
But now I have some clarity  
  
to show you what I mean  
  
I don't know how I got this way  
  
I'll never be alright  
  
So, I'm breaking the habit  
  
I'm breaking the habit  
  
I'm breaking the habit tonight  
  
*- I was just going on about issue four. I've always wanted to have a foot note. 


End file.
